Seduction
by JustInunotaisho
Summary: Sneaky Sanji knows Nami better than she knows herself...
1. Seduction

Note: This is before the crew goes to the Grand Line, before Robin and Vivi and after defeating Arlong. Sneaky Sanji...

Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece. Sad day...

Written by RedMiko

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**Seduction**

She never notices. Not the extra swirl of frosting, not the extra slice of orange peel, not the careful arrangement that sets her dish apart from the rest. One meal a week contains oranges. But if she notices, he never knows. Each dish, he carefully prepares. The sauces seasoned just so. The molds smooth and unblemished. The meat tender and juicy. The wine a perfect complement. The dessert a delicate sample of sweetness to tease the senses but never fill.

Luffy will eat anything. He eats to be full and he is never full. If he could, he would live on meat alone - and sometimes Sanji wonders if he should just grill steak everyday and be done with it.

Zoro regards food as a invariably interrupting sleep. To sleep, perchance to eat. Food comes in abstract concepts: breakfast, lunch, dinner, and rum. Rum goes with anything. Sanji's pretty sure Zoro and Luffy will die from scurvy if they were allowed to feed themselves.

Usopp enjoys flavor more than the rest - but more along the lines of what he won't eat. He has his favorites (limited) and his most loathed (wide variety). Cooking for him is a challenge - an ordeal by fire as Sanji has to remember what day of the week it is and whether or not the sharpshooting inventor has made up his mind about lima beans yet.

Nami - ah, Nami-san. His secret plan is to ruin her. Seduce her palate. Imprint his cooking signature on her tongue. Make it so that she unconsciously seeks the taste of his cooking wherever else she dines. She never says much when she eats, but he can see the quiet pleasure she takes in each meal. He takes note of her reactions, each minute gesture, watching her eat slowly as she savors one dish, watching her devour her favorites, watching her march through others with an air of mustered courage. He knows her preferred dishes by heart though she has never told them to him. Sometimes she takes an interest when he muses on starting a restaurant. He knows full well she'd only be interested in the money aspect - but he still holds out hope.

Even now, they all sit in port, celebrating their latest treasure haul by having a meal at one of the finest restaurants in East Blue. He watches her slyly as he swirls his wine. She sits, chin in one hand, the other using her fork to pick idly at the food on her plate. To his experienced taste buds, the food is exquisite and he can't help but analyze it, looking for ways to incorporate some of the pleasant but exotic flavors into his own cooking. She, however, finally lays down her fork and sighs, reaches for her glass.

"Not hungry, Nami-san?" he smiles, capturing her glass and pouring more wine. She glares at him and snatches back the glass. He pulls out his best seductive grin, forks a piece of succulent filet mignon and adds a piece of asparagus before gently pushing it towards her mouth. "Would it help if I fed you myself, lovely Nami-san?"

She rewards him with a smack to the head and ignores him the rest of the evening.

But, back on the Going Merry, he sits up on deck next to the door to the galley, smoking and waiting. He knows she doesn't know quite what she's looking for - but he knows what she seeks. So when he hears her stealthy footsteps coming toward him, he smiles and watches the smoke curl to the stars.

"Hungry, Nami-san?"

He hears her curse and in answer, he stands and opens the door, bowing her inside. Within the warmth, there is the table, set and ready for her, the food hot and filling and wholly his own creation. No fine china, no glittering crystal - but his food needs no parade. It is enough that she brushes past without looking at him and sits down. Taking a deep breath, she digs in, avoiding his gaze.

He pulls up a chair across from her, settling in so he can watch her from the corner of his eye - watch as she unknowingly succumbs to him.


	2. Possession

Note: Sadly, I'm waaaay behind in my One Piece reading/watching. I love it dearly but life catches up and I find no time to get caught up. As such, my Sanji and Nami may be OOC. I apologize. :)

Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece. Sad day...

Written by RedMiko

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**Possession**

Nami keeps a book.

If you were to sneak into her quarters, fish around in the second to last drawer of her dresser and push aside the old crumpled maps, you could find this book and if you were very lucky and she were distracted by a pile of money somewhere else, you could read this book.

In the book are columns and numbers and letters and green and red ink. In it are names written neatly and evenly in a beautiful script that can only come from years upon years of drawing maps. Under each name are details – items with descriptions and prices and a total running down the right that alternates between green and red. Most often red.

Here is Luffy. All his items are bills, usually pertaining to meat in one form or another. One lone entry contains the single word "TOFU" and a quick sketch of a smirking orange. The accumulated total is in red – debt.

Over _here_ is Usopp. Gadget after gadget after gadget, some of them listed two or three or ten or twelve times – evidence of failed tinkering. Next to his name are the words "No more acacian peppers!!!" His total is in red too.

And over _there_ is Zoro, with swords and polish and soft rags and maybe a restaurant bill or two. Barrels of sake. Lots of sake. Red numbers again.

And right _here_ is hers. Meticulous. Prim. Mostly profit.

And just _there_ is Sanji's. Food. And occasionally trinkets. Cooking utensils – but only rarely. His debt is by far the largest.

Yes, they are all in debt to her, one way or another – it is a fact of life for the Going Merry crew. She keeps a careful record of her treasure and their treasure and her profit and their debts and figures it out once a week and sometimes more when they stop in a town and their eyes inevitably turn to her, holding longing and maybe a hint of deviousness as they contemplate ways to get out of paying interest. And they return from their excursion with their new treasures and new debts and she doesn't remind them until _next_ time that they really should think of paying off the interest. And then she lends them more money.

The funny thing about debts is that it's all just ink on paper, really. Just numbers in a column in red ink. She would argue that if you looked at it sideways, it was really an expression of her generosity. She buys their must-have-nows and then records it for them to see. To remind them of her generous nature. But if you dig past the arrogance and the greed in her soul, you might see a corner of her heart where, when all is quiet on deck and she is alone with the moon and the wind plays with her hair and brushes lightly over her tattoo, she knows it's not really about the debt at all.

You see, she's been in debt too. She knows its shackles and the hurt and the pain when money is not repaid. You must return to the source of your debt again and again, no matter how hard you hate or how strongly you resist. The tethers are tight. Yet she also knows that shackles can be light. If you were to listen to that corner of her heart and think for a minute or two, you might find the whisper of fear that lurks there. That if there were no debt, _would they have any reason to come back to her?_

She never lets them know why she loans but never demands payment too often. Of course, she never lets herself know it either – but can you blame her? She knows no other way yet to express her feelings to them – to the ones who have fought beside her, laughed and cried beside her, rescued her, fed her. How else do other people stay so close if not through debt? Debt of character, debt of deeds, debt of promises, debt of money – it makes no difference – and so she smiles as she hands a pouch of coins to Sanji as he declares his intent to go shopping. Because sometimes, you have to make the debt nigh impossible to repay if you want someone to stick around forever.

Later in the evening, she saunters into the kitchen as he's whipping up his latest creation, something filled with chocolate and mint and maybe a touch of bourbon and she filches a taste and sits on the table and demands the change from his purchases. With a sly grin, he tosses her what remains and she counts over it, meticulous in her calculations. Then out comes the book, in go the numbers and the items and the scratch of her pens mingle with the bubbling from his stove. He shuts the oven door on the cake and she slams her book closed, announces his debt and the increase in it and smiles triumphantly.

He sits, not looking at her, his mouth curled in a smile. Carefully he rolls another cigarette, lights it and takes a steady lungful of smoke. Then, with nimble fingers, he snatches up the change and with a flick of his wrist, flings the pouch out the window. It arcs with Nami's shriek and splashes in the Going Merry's wake and he considers its exit with a wider smirk. Behind him, she splutters and hyperventilates and he turns, relieves the book from her nerveless fingers. As she dashes to the window to gape, he takes the red pen, scratches out the last number she wrote and then writes over it in green ink: "Total – can never be repaid."

She will find it later. Perhaps she will still be livid and will write out the exact amount he lost along with a fine to increase the amount further. Such loss of gold is criminal to her. Or perhaps she will look over the words with a kinder eye, maybe blaming it on his fickle nature. Or perhaps she will at last realize what he has always hoped she'd understand – that she is not and never will be alone.

That if she can only speak in debt and money, then he can too

If that's what it takes.

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_A/N: The first one-shot was only supposed to be a one-shot. And now it's turning into a collection. Mostly due to all the reviews I've received. You inspired me - I wasn't expecting the first to be so warmly welcomed - thank you all so much! I hope this continuation of sorts suits your fancy like the other one did._

_As with other collections I've written, I don't know how often I'll update or whether I will. I can't promise anything because I write only when the inspiration hits. Which can be often. But not necessarily about the same things. So - sorry in advance!_


	3. Green

Note: Same note as before - I'm way behind in reading One Piece. So characters may be OOC - but I'll leave you to decide. :) Regardless, I have fun writing these and I hope you have fun reading them too.

Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece. Sad day...

Written by RedMiko

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**Green**

Nami puzzles.

Ahead of her, oblivious to her secret prowling, the blond haired, chain-smoking chef wanders aimlessly through the market. He chooses stalls at random, it seems, without care or consciousness to the owners. Stopping at one to bestow an effusive compliment to a particular bunch of broccoli, he gallantly kisses the hand of the elderly woman running the cart. At the next stop, a barely imperceptible wrinkle of the nose in reaction to an enormous daikon earns the bellows of a skinny, bespectacled shopkeeper and they engage in heated argument, Sanji coolly flicking the ash from his cigarette, the owner's arms waving more and more frantically. It ends when Sanji gives a grin and saunters off, hands stuffed in his pockets.

You'd think, by the way he cast himself at her sandaled feet earlier this morning, he'd been at sea for months on only bread and water. Could his sweet wonderful Nami-san possibly lend him some money from the provisions budget? Just a small amount, a mere 4,000 beris and he would cook her a feast that would make her senses sing….. With a scowl, she gave permission, only to watch him slither up from his grovel and weasel alongside her, his eyes hooded and his mouth puckered – she wouldn't regret her decision, he'd give her an evening of delight...

She sent him spinning down the steps. His descent was cushioned by Zoro asleep in the shade, who awoke spoiling for a fight. While the argument escalated to include the rest of the crew as Usopp descended to watch and Luffy catapulted into the fray to shout for dinner, she went inside to pour over the accounts.

He always asked for outrageous sums – and spent only a fraction. Now, as she watches him, she tries to remember how much food he usually brings back. The last time, he'd had to use two large wagons to transport it to the Going Merry and the ship's sides had creaked as he had stowed it below. The money pouch had jingled as he tossed it to her with a wink and when she'd counted it, only several hundred beris were gone – no receipt. She'd had to go down to the hold and take stock on inventory, cursing him on his carelessness and guessing to the price of each item. She had meant to question him then but he had quite forcefully shooed her from the kitchen and then prepared such an enormous and succulent feast that she had quite forgotten to ask again.

This time, though, she demanded to accompany him on his buying spree – she had to know how he could keep expenses down and yet bring back so much. He, however, was slippery, throwing up more smokescreens than his cigarette and somehow managing to slide down the gangplank and away before she noticed him missing. It took her an hour to find him and then she had to dive behind a fish counter while he turned to sniff a string of garlic. Come hell or high water, she was determined to track his spending habits – how could he manage to spend less than even she did? - and he wasn't about to stop her.

And now she follows him as he traipses through the streets, his feet light, his cigarette hanging from his toothy grin, hair falling in his eyes. His hands dip and sway among the glistening vegetables, the jewel-like fruits. He sings rhapsodies over a batch of strawberries – her mouth waters as she ducks behind a jewelry stall. Fingers caress the slick scales of a small tuna – and she gulps to remember the fresh cream and parsley he had slathered it with last time. A curled eyebrow rises over bags of grain and legumes and she watches him pour a scant scoopful in his palm, nudging the small pieces with his thumb, pinching them and peering at them with a sharp eye.

When he isn't fondling the produce, he's pinching the shop girls, catching each with the glimmer in his eye and the twinkle in his smile that sits right next to the sultry glow of his cigarette. He charms the grandmothers with his manners, sends the matrons into titters as he praises the qualities of their merchandise, flirts outrageously with the young girls. He plays them all like instruments, plucking the strings with cheap one-liners gilded with a seductive tone, adding grace notes as he takes long, meaningful drags of the cigarette. Nami finds herself entranced as she watches the drama unfold, watches the jealousies rise among his new catches while Sanji dances through them all, a Pied Piper and his harem. She finds herself having to wade through the girls in his wake and more than once crouch low when he turns back to toss off another endearment.

Nami notices two things.

Number one – he fastidiously ignores the male vendors.

Number two – so far, he hasn't bought a thing. His hands shuffle between nesting in his pockets and gliding over his food of choice – but always coming away empty. Cajoling comes from all sides, but slides off on his smile and he wanders on. Compliments flow from his lips, but the small money purse at his belt remains silent, its golden tones as yet unheard. It still isn't making sense.

And that is why she puzzles.

Her stomach growls and she winces, casting a quick glance at him but he doesn't turn. Instead, he chooses a basket of apples and begins to look them over, all charm and glamour as he banters back and forth with the woman. And then Nami sees. The compliments, the verbosity, the tone of voice, all carefully chosen to distract while his keen eyes sum up the stock and his hands begin to switch out the mediocre fruit for the choicest ones. While the woman coos and simpers, the blond cook smiles and swaps. It was almost like open thievery.

Smiling winningly, Sanji holds up the basket – now filled with perfect specimens - and declares his choice, lauding the fruit and the woman for their virtues and suddenly the woman can't declare her price low enough. Coins exchange hands – Nami can't quite hear the price because Sanji takes the opportunity to murmur it lightly in the stall owner's ear but she sees the number of coins – and then Sanji disappears, leaving only a whispering trace of smoke and a besotted woman old enough to be his mother.

She scurries to catch up with him, breathless in admiration. The price was low – one tenth of the price on the little card in front of the apples. The flowery prose, the excessive flirting – it had set her teeth on edge, her fingers twitching to give him a clout up the ear. Yet there he is, shoving a basket of apples onto a cart, looking smug and two belis poorer than he had been. Not even she has been able to barter so low without resorting to sticky fingers.

The afternoon passes in a daze. He returns to each and every stall he passed before and Nami finds them eager and starving for his attention. He hadn't been playing them like instruments, she decided. Before, he had only been tuning the orchestra. Now he conducts and they sing for him, offering their best, their brightest, their freshest stock, arguing with each other and outbidding one another while he lights another cigarette and smiles benevolently. It is very much open thievery, she decides as she steals an orange from the crate he just bought and perches in a sheltered doorway just out of sight. Compliments for goods. Air for sustenance. And enough money to make them feel like they'd received the better end of the deal.

She is in awe of such artistry as the cart fills and then another and another. The afternoon light washes over, casting deep shadows and rich color and she repositions herself in the first cart, hiding behind the barrel of wine and next to the oranges. There she can afford a comfortable view of him as he does business, watching and marveling as he passes out the money and the words. She finds she can't take her eyes off him. True, he doesn't steal the way she does, with cunning tactics and breathless moves and a glowing satisfaction when there is nothing left for her to take. Instead, this is far more insidious – the owner has no idea they've just lost a fortune in exchange for so little. What she completes in silence and darkness, he performs openly and with gusto. To be honest, it irks her a little, too, to see him perform in public with such ease.

She can feel the admiration and the jealousy blossoming and twining. If she had such skills, she wouldn't waste them on bartering in the market…

The others come trickling back – Usopp carrying armfuls of new components, jugs of strange liquid balanced on the top of piles. Luffy, turkey drumsticks in each fist, carries little else. His eyes droop and Nami knows he'll nap a little and then be up in time for Sanji's next feast. Zoro wanders up and for a moment she frets that he'll perch himself near her hiding place – but instead, he lounges in the seat of one of the other carts, his hands folded behind his head, chewing on a dango stick. Sanji extracts himself from the crowd and hops up onto the cart she hides in and she scrunches lower, watching him wave gallantly. A heart-stopping second and then a lurch as he clucks at the mules and the carts start forward.

The ride back to the Going Merry is a bit painful – she sits at an awkward angle and every dip and curve jab into her spine and hip. She bites back squeaks as the wheels hit stray cobblestones and dip into potholes. Above her, clouds tinged with gold and pink roll past. If she cranes her neck, she can just see Sanji's profile, cigarette dangling from his lips. He hums a tune she can't identify and somehow its sound mingles with the tang of the mikan and the wine and the bright spring scent of broccoli and the smoke of his cigarette. Cigarette and mikan, food and gold, flattery and nimble fingers. A cook and a crook. It all flits through her brain and she digs her fingers into yet another mikan skin as she mulls over this thing – not quite a revelation – but something significant. It sits in her mind and she regards it – unable to decide how to define it or deal with it.

"I know following me makes you hungry, but save some of those for dinner, Nami-san."

His voice is so quiet she can barely hear him over the cart wheels – but she hears it and jumps, cracking her head against the wine barrel. A low chuckle meets her ears and she feels the flush creep over her cheeks. She considers sitting up and thwacking him over the head but a jingle and a thud against her stomach makes her cough and she picks up the money pouch that just hit her stomach.

"Care to reconcile my spending?"

She ignores the inviting grin she knows is there and opens the pouch with sure fingers. She's kept track of all he's spent this afternoon, the numbers sitting stacked in her head, neatly like the oranges that are stacked in the crate by her side. But a particularly large jolt shudders through the cart and sends oranges and Nami flying. Luffy lets out a whoop and Zoro laughs and she nurses her head and glares at Sanji, cursing his grin and the sly look he gives her.

And suddenly the numbers are no longer stacked but scrambled, mixed and tossed with memories of flowing words and discerning hands and a new sort of thievery she can only gape at. Now she sits amid tumbled oranges and counts her coins, trying to order her thoughts while she determines where he sits in her books…

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_A/N: I almost make Sanji not goofy enough, I think. He's such a good mix of punk-awesome and total "trial of loooove" and I never feel adequate to the task of writing his flippance and his "Nami-shwaaaaan 3" moments... I'll have to work on that next time._

_Thank you all for all your reviews and for reading (I know you're out there. :) Thank you for letting me share._

_PS: If you're interested, I've decided I'm kinda following a loose format - a theme, if you will. Don't know how well it will work - but if you'd like to try and guess, I'll try and figure out a suitable reward. :)  
_


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